The Ledgers of Baldr: 4E360-374
Actions Kaz'ur The Hajin decides that it is high past time the caravans were properly equipped to trade overseas. As the Ashik possess rather poor naval technology, the caravan leaders decide their best option is to practice the advanced art of hitching a ride on other trade ships. (1-2, Trade Tech). Under the leadership of Fayyad, celebrated head of the department of spiritual evocation in the university of Al Karaouine, an expedition is sent to the palace of dreams. Nothing is truly known about the nature of the place, and the observation room remains a complete mystery. (3, Research/???). Lastly, the council decides to construct a series of schools in Duyyad for the children of immigrants, so that they might learn the history of their new home and the nature of the faith. (4, Culture). Mu'lakka Kal'rog realizes the importance that the big island holds for his people. After receiving word that the revolts have completely thrown off Mu'lakkan presence, he gives the order to send in the airships. (Air-navy assisted expansion 1, -90 gold) Kal'rog's father's youngest son, Kal'bro, has been spending a large amount of time at the shrines that have been erected to the Angry Volcano God. He suggests to the clerics that perhaps some new direction is in order; the volcano hasn't erupted in some time, or grunted, or even bubbled. He gathers some of his closest cleric friends to construct a new temple to the sky. (Culture 2) With the new airships, speeds are better than ever and merchants take to the skies to deliver their goods, reducing time and increasing profits. (Income 3) From their new vantage points in the air, shipbuilders get to brainstorming new ideas for point defense, better hunting, and safer flight. (AirNavy Research 4) Hall of the Five Gojac backpedals, by popular demand of the Toquan population. He works on finding a cure to gonorrhea. However, as an immortal life form, his idea of a cure tends to be anything that kills organic life. (1:military research) The toquans, oblivious to this hitch, offer to help him with his research (-30 gold). Kellus and Rucahn, a little abashed, set to work raising Shrine Titan Alphas and firebears. (2&3) Garma also raises armies, except she's not all abashed. (4) Stavengar The Senate, seeing the threat of Hunger looming on the horizon, decide that its time to get their shit in gear. The dwarves push once more for the Fissure(Expansionx1). Advance crews are also sent out to prepare the Eir-i, beginning joint construction of the research facility with the Ashelani(Joint Project, -150 wealth for +5). While the facility for wyrdium research is built, the Stavengaran dwarves begin to prepare for the research that, once completed, will allow them to fend off the Hunger. Dwarves from around the republic are tasked with searching out a mineral known as Silef, a crystalline rock that shines from within with an inner, white radiance. Legend has it that this metal falls to the ground occasionally, a gift from Nott. These samples are sent to the scientists that are currently encamped outside the construction site of the Eir-i(Wyrdium/Hunger Research). Lastly, dwarven scholars begin to peruse the ancient records, armed with the small amounts of knowledge gleaned from wyrdium research already. From this, they are able to discover striking pattern; exposure to wyrdium leaves some dwarves with a sensitivity to certain resonant frequencies of power, which crisscross the land, often intersecting on current city sites. The dwarven scholars attempt to map these lines of energy. (Wyrdium/Hunger research). Ashelani Queen Torol, knowing that the death toll was heavy on the captive population, turns her eyes northward. Her mother, in her wisdom, had not slain all of the indigenous humans of the tundra. Seeking to replenish her sacrificial stocks, she prepares an army to raid the northern villages. (army x1) Similarly, she attempts to introduce the ability to carry the Hunger into the bombhoppers, allowing the blight to be launched over long distances. (aggressive tech x1) Meanwhile in the south, Queen Scholus begins construction on the bridge to span the Fissure. In the spirit of cooperation, she agrees to match the investment of the dwarves, feeding all of the workers with the finest carcino stocks. (joint project, -150 wealth) Similarly, protoqueens begin meeting with the dwarven researches to unlock the potential military applications of the mysterious element from the Fissure. The first experiments are centered on the newly refined wyrdium from the stomachs of her prior test subjects. (military tech x1) Ignati These are tumultuous days in Ignis... for the first time in living memory the dragon-men don't have a strong leader to turn to. With the abdication of Sur'yat, Chimeryx's greatest accomplishment-the unification of the ten tribes- is in jeopardy. The interim ruling council- rebranded the Loyalist Council- seems to be on the verge of collapse when a bright-eyed newcomer by the name of Ri'n Santi gives it a new lease on life. The Ki'l Chalyx Tribe, located in the extreme southeast of the Great Forest, has always been a step behind, so nobody was particularly surprised when several months went by before they answered the council's request for a representative. Nor were expectations very high, since the remote tribe had never had much of a role in the prior government. Still, Ri'n Santi does nothing better than defy expectations. He is young, and has charisma in spades. His story is just beginning. Spurred on by their new symbolic leader, the Loyalist council stops arresting people and gets back to work. They make a point of freeing all political prisoners, and begin the process of constructing "Gathering Trees" in every village- platforms high in the canopy where all Ignati can discuss politics in a civil manner and submit their ideas to the council. (Culture x2). They also encourage all able-bodied dragon-men to enlist in two new armies being formed (Raise Army x2) Gold Spent Legaros With the Rust currently wreaking havoc on Haven, the Legaran First Fleets commander is ordered to take his fleet out to sea. He decides that his first stop will be Stavengar, the oldest ally Legaros has, to improve relations, and hopefully shave the last few bits of excess growth off the ships. (Culture 1 and Naval...Shaving? 2) Meanwhile, Legaran scientists are given a highly motivating speech in the main square of Haven by the Emperors Guard, demanding that they figure out some way to control the Rust. The speech ends with the one scientist who decided to not show up being encased in iron and displayed as a statue on the Emperors Mansions front lawn. Scientists literally trip over each other to start working first. (Rust Research 3 and 4) The Stavengaran 1st Legion, under Consul Ludendwarf, embarks upon the Legaran fleet, toting great stores of supplies and weapons needed for the coming days. "Soon," Ludendwarf thinks, staring across the cold blue-green sea towards Manuk. "This will be where I make my name." Results: Kaz’ur: 20, 4, 19, 12 Many ship captains are reluctant to harbor Ashik traders because of weight concerns—however, the exotic nature of your country’s wares draws the attention of many a Mu’lakkan galley master, the majority of whom harbor a love for money so strong that they have no problem loading stone people onto their fantastic flying ships (+2 to ALL trade income, this stacks with the overland caravan bonus as well). This era in your history has proven to be a golden age of archeological discovery, as for the first time in something like 170 years, the dwarfs of Stavengar have allowed your researchers access to their records. Interestingly, the dwarfen ledgers mention the Palace of Dreams as being located a few hundred miles south along the fissure from where it actually is today—it is surmised that the structure was put in place in one era and then actually physically moved as the fissure naturally widened over time. The purpose of the fortress is not made clear from the deciphered Ahazhuaran script carved into the walls—however, the most distinguished feature of the copious research notes make mention of “fissurekind.” Your researchers are ecstatic—is it possible that there were once beings who made the fissure their home? Curiously, they also do not refer to Ardunne by its name, instead calling it the “false continent.” These notes also make mention of an old elevator system that was put in place to descend to impossible depths, however, not a trace of it can be found. Your scholars surmise that it must still be in place at the original location of the fort, a location that has recently been claimed as newly-sovereign dwarfen territory. The universities in Duyyad do well at educating your populace, and, oddly enough, your country now houses the most-respected medical body on the globe—the Emperor Eckard University at Duyyad—founded by Reich exiles (+1 culture). The Mu’lakka Lands: 8, 2, 6, 16 The tribes on Big Island have grown increasingly agitated and warlike over the past hundred years—and attempts to resettle the area go… poorly. Kal’rog, pouring money into attempts to retake the landmass, is faced with the prospect of impeachment when word breaks out of Mu’lakkan ships literally plummeting to the earth in flames after the natives launch barrels of flaming pitch at them from their warmachines (-100 wealth). Ko-Ro-Ta, the warchief and self-proclaimed god of the Big Island natives, has vowed to drench the soil of the land in Mu’lakkan blood. Construction of the temples to the sky god is halted immediately after Kal’bro, the largest proponent of the measure, is actually swallowed up by a freak lava floe in the basement of his castle that burns him, his entire family, and his serving staff alive, melting his castle into a grey slag heap in the middle of a hot molten ocean. This is most unusual seeing as before this incident, the island where Kal’bro made his residence reported no instances of volcanic activity. Clerics of the angry volcano god, or AVG, shake their heads and say that he is not one for subtlety. The airships yield little access to new territories—if there is a city somewhere in the world, odds are that Mu’lakkans have already selling stuff there. Your airship captains have developed a sort of standard operating procedure in terms of evasive maneuvers, and, while it didn’t seem to help much at Big Island, they hopefully will cut aircraft losses significantly in future conflicts (+2 navy). The Halls of the Five: 9, 19, 12, 18 Progress on the “cure” for all life as we know it is halted when Kellus gets wind of the project and shuts it down himself. The Destroyer, he says, ecstatic about having his powers back, is still looking for any possible way to abuse the hell out of them, and would jump at the chance to kill every living thing. “Aren’t you a god of creation, not destruction?” Kellus asks. “It’s perfect, though,” Gojac says, “because I get to CREATE a thing that could destroy all life, ever.” Kellus reminds Gojac that the Shiv of Ages, in the right hands, would be capable of doing just that. Meanwhile, in a high stone tower, Rucahn stares at the calendar plastered on the wall. The deadline for the army mustering is, coincidentally, on the same day as Shua’s birthday. Rucahn absentmindedly crosses “CONJURE BIRTHDAY PRESENTS” off the calendar and pencils in “SUMMON FIREBEARS.” He thinks about writing the birthday present note somewhere, but the only open days of the month were Saturdays, and Saturdays were off limits. Saturdays were invariably “PONDER THE INFINITE,” or “DICK AROUND WITH THE INTANGIABLE THREADS OF FATE.” Shua could always wait until next year. (3 armies mustered, -30 income). Stavengar: 14, 17, 10, 14 The success of your eastward expansion has put your right in touch with the borders of the Ashelani domain to the north, and for the first time in history, it is possible for a traveler to walk from the east coast of Ardunne, cross the border into Stavengar by use of one of the many rickety bridges that span the fissure, and then veer north and reach the great wall of Kaz’ur, all without ever having to leave civilized territory (+5 income, -10 wealth). However, the Hunger has finally come to Stavengar from the north, and is currently slowly but steadily inching its way through the boundaries of your nation, eradicating entire villages and forcing cities to be abandoned. Miners underground have spotted the puffy white sporecaps convulsing and writhing along the walls of tunnels, which have now been closed off to stop the spread (-5 income). The great stone bridge across the fissure will be completed in ten years, and beneath it will be housed the Eir-i, a dome-shaped researched facility designed to be nestled between both sides of the crack in the earth and the slotted stone segments of the bridge (-150 wealth, joint project complete, see James’ post for results). Exposure to wyrdium, your scientists say, seems to have no physical effects, however, changes in mental stability are being noticed as of late. Only dwarfs are capable of resisting these effects due to the absurd willpower that they exert. More time, of course, is needed to see what effect wyrdium will have on the fast-encroaching Hunger, but a breakthrough has been made with regards to molding the metal. Wyrdium, as it turns out, can only be smithed into a stable shape at temperatures of -30 degrees Celcius. At temperatures colder than that, the metal permanently alters itself into a liquid state, similar to quicksilver. The most curious development is that the strange metal seems to nullify the effects of magic. Spells, in general, have a tendency to not work in its presence (military/Hunger tech, three more successes needed). The Ashelani Dominion: 8, 6, 18, 15 The army assembled is actually, for the first time, an odd mix of Ashelani and human soldiers—all of them conscripted slaves forced to march in the front ranks to eat arrow fire. The slaves, however, are no longer outnumbered by their oppressors, as the death toll for the Ashelani was staggering, even more so than for the humans. The ranks collapse into dissent and revolt, and while the riotous slaves are eventually all imprisoned and sent off to be fed to the Hunger, the army is unable to raid any northern villages this season. Len-Torol’s work with the Hunger is going a lot slower than she would like it to, primarily because the bombhopper stock is nearly all depleted. The fortress of Eir-i to the south, though, is going well, and the whole structure combines the stability of dwarfen architecture with the flexibility and versatility of Ashelani resin, keeping it securely locked into the sides of the chasm. Len-Scholus has already apologized to the dwarfs for the wrongs of the war, lamenting that it pushed back scientific achievement for so long and resulted in so many deaths. Scientists on your side, however, are reluctant to share their wyrdium discoveries with dwarfen researchers, and the whole fortress remains divided into two wings, with the Ashelani residing in the spacious, upper-level resin dome underneath the bridge, and the dwarfs conducting their experiments in the lower, stone-brick configuration, unable to be seen from above. Each team remains unaware of what the other is researching, and dwarfen security is incredibly high, even more so than at the Stavengarian Senate. Oblivious to whatever the dwarfs are researching below, Len-Scholus continues working (+3 to wyrdium research for both you and Collin). Looking at the blueprints for the facility once more, Len-Scholus notices that dwarfen engineers have installed pipes to run super-cooled air through the sides of the fissure and into their research wing, cleverly out of sight of your research base. A secret flight downward confirms this. Acting on a hunch, Len-Scholus begins testing the properties of the metal at cold temperatures and finds that it is able to be forged successfully (two more successes needed). The Ignati Tribes: 19, 9, 9, 8 The Loyalist Council, as of right now, is in a tough position, and R’in Santi has his work cut out for him. Despite his protestations, in these dark times, a faction of dragonborn has sprung up pushing for him to be made chief of all the tribes, a position left unoccupied since Chimeryx passed away. The Gathering Trees are a good idea, R’in thinks, but the majority of them seem to be going unused at the moment (-60 wealth). The rebels have annexed an eastern chunk of grassland (- 6 income) and as of right now are demanding to be recognized as a sovereign nation under Mu’lakkan protection. The six elders of the Ignati Free State argue that they want no part in the looming war against the Five, and appeal to Kal’rog come to the aid of their cause. The warmongering of Ignis, they say, will go unabated and bring ruin upon Liosa once again, as it did in the days of old. It is up to Mu’lakka to halt this aggressiveness and ensure that the global balance of power is maintained. In his Ignati home, Abdid ibn-al Walid, who has not seen the green mountains of Kaz’ur in over a hundred years, prepares his army, along with a newly arrived Ashik army from the homeland, to go on the march across the northern border to honor the commitment to his allies, although personally he does not know what to make of the war or what to make of the Five in general. R’in’s attempts to muster his own armies have been met with discouraging failure. The Council, still eager at the prospect of a war to redeem your people’s bruised reputation, keeps clamoring for him to redouble his efforts. Legaros: 1, 18, 11, 7 The Legaran First Fleet returns to port at half strength, the sails in tatters and the bows of the ships split in many places. The fleet was wracked by a terrible storm rounding the southeastern horn of Manuk, and the ship carrying Consul von Ludendwarf, as well as the Legaran Master of Fleet, has been lost beneath the waves. The dwarf army lands safely, for the most part, but the loss of their general and head of state at sea has put a serious dent in their morale. In addition, the ships of Legaros are in no condition to ferry them back to Stavengar, leaving them completely stranded on a foreign continent (fleet destroyed, Ludendwarf and Master of Fleet killed). Routine rust-shaving keeps your new prototype ships in tip-top condition, however, and future fleets will be more efficient for it (+4 navy). Research on the rust is going poorly—the phenomenon seems unique to Manuk alone, and seemed to start after death returned to the world. Experimenting with Derultians, your scholars are confident that they can maybe manipulate the rust with powerful displacement or bonding magic and use it as a way to defeat enemies in combat (2 more successes). Rusted weapons, as the dwarfs from Stavengar are finding out, fare incredibly poorly and soon become impossible to use and maintain altogether. BattleCategory:The Ledgers of Baldr The Battle of the Shifting Sands Can't find the results for this, but the dwarves were soundly beaten, lost to a man. The Fall of the Ignati Isaac: 8, 9, 10, 7, 8, 6 +18 per army = 156 Michael: 8, 4, 8 +27 per army = 101 Daniel: 5, 1 +14 = 20 Rebels: 8 + 21 = 29 TOTAL: Fivesworn Armies: 185 Sacred Heart Alliance: 121 The Five win the battle by a whopping margin of 64 points, an Absolute Victory, destroying all the opposing armies and losing no armies. With Ignati culture as fragmented as it is right now, as well as the amount of enemy armies in Ignis, and the absurdly demoralizing margin of victory, conquering the dragon-men takes less than one turn. Isaac has won the war and gets to decide the fate of the now-subjugated Ignati. He has chosen to annex all of their landholdings, and his margin of victory is such that he was allowed to annex the holdings of the rebels as well in the same turn. On a backwater road in the forested part of Ignati territory, a wooden wagon trundles slowly along a dirt road. An old vagabond—a visibly-wizened human dressed in rags—is splayed inside the cart lazily, blowing smoke into the warm afternoon air with his pipe. A second raggedy old man in a tattered grey cloak drives the mangy nag at the front onward. “There’s no room back here,” the old-timer in the back whines. The horse pipes up: “At least you get to sit in the fucking back, you drunk bastard.” “Quiet, both of you,” the driver snarls in a menacing voice. “There’s a checkpoint up ahead.” A stout Ignati mans a wooden toll-booth jutting out from a cliff face, barely visible through the shadows of the trees up above. The cart draws nearer on squeaky wheels, and the dragon-man leans out the front of the booth to look at the newcomers. Humans in Ignis were understandably very rare, and this road was one of the least traveled in the eastern territories. The reptile opens the door on the side of the small room and strides out in the middle of the road in front of the cart. The driver hobbles off the front seat, the Ignati looking at him with veiled suspicion. “Immigration papers,” he barks. The Destroyer reaches in his pocket and discovers that the passports are gone. “Um… I thought I had them here somewhere,” he mumbles, patting himself down. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” the horse interjects. “Just conjure some up,” Gojac shouts from the back. The Destroyer turns back, oblivious to the Ignati, whose mouth is wide open in shock from hearing the horse speak. “Conjuring isn’t, like, a thing I can do,” he says, almost shamefully. The horse turns to the Ignati. “Let’s start this over, okay? You’re about to forget that all this just happened.” “Fuck that!” the drunkard in the back shouts. “We’re gonna be late, just kill the fatass. I have dinner plans in Haven with Rucahn at midnight, you know.” “It’s good that you two are hanging out again,” the horse says. The Destroyer sighs, and the body of the Ignati suddenly crumples inward on itself with a series of wet, disturbing sounds. Death hops back in the cart and prods at the rear of the horse with his stick, and the cart moves onward, towards the eastern edge of the Great Forest. A peal of thunder rolls out across the plains. Abdid ibn-al Walid reins in his warbeast and raises his great stone hand as a signal to draw the cavalry to a halt. Ignati messengers two hours ago had confirmed the worst—the Five and their legions had just crossed the northwestern border. News was piecemeal, which was never a good sign. R’in Santi had made the choice to deploy the meat of his force in the east to strike into rebel territory, using the Ashik to support the flank. But when they had arrived at their destination, the rebel army was nowhere to be seen, and signs indicated that they had taken flight not one hour ago, leaving their campsites deserted. R’in Santi had sent out scouting braves, of course, but none of them had returned as of yet. Another roll of thunder. A day’s hard march had put them well outside the forest, Abdid realizes, and there are only flat plains for miles around. Any army would be able to see them coming from miles away. Of course, all hope of a surprise assault had vanished anyhow, and R’in was currently engaged in the cumbersome process of turning his armies around so they could hasten back to the forest. Such a re-positioning, Abdid laments, takes hours. Marching back towards the safety of the forest, Abdid suddenly receives a missive straight from the Ignati high command. "Suspicious phenomena spotted, bring your cavalry up to the front. Detachment on its way to protect your flank while you move up. Make for the forest and meet with me as soon as possible." Abdid grumbles orders to his paladins and the goats break out into a roaring gallop. It doesn't take them long to see what the trouble is. The Ignati front line has ground to a halt in front of a massive, unnatural wall of white fog that stretches all the way up into the evening sky. R'in swoops down beside Abdid and bows respectfully, explaining that the fog has been there for an hour and shows no signs of dissipating. Inconveniently, the fog is also positioned directly between the Ignati and the outskirts of the forest, and scouts say that it seems to go on for miles. There is a clamor in the ranks, and the Ignati foot soldiers gesture towards the front. Striding out of the fog, three figures have emerged. "Keep it together," Kellus cautions Gojac as all three of them hobble out of the mist towards the army assembled along the plains. "This takes a lot of concentration on your part, too." Kellus and Abaddon could Alter themselves with ease, but Gojac didn't really posses that particular talent, and so Kellus had Altered his form suitably to make the old drunkard appear more imposing. Death leads at the forefront, with Kellus on his right and Gojac on his left as viewed from the front. R'in Santi stares transfixed at the three men walking slowly toward the front spear line. A long dead, ancient skeletal king wearing a five-pointed crown strides slowly forward in the center, a decaying black cloak swirling around his ancient plate and clinking chain mail, dulled by centuries of rust and spotted with blue verdigris. Clutched in his bony hands is a sword older than Ignis itself, the blade tarnished and the finish ruined. The man on the left is not a skeleton--he is a high born human wearing the fine clothes of some sort of prince or nobleman, and a swirling red and purple sash bedecks his wast. In his right hand is clutched a diadem, and his left hand holds an ancient scepter. Ten swords--the hilt of each sword bearing the symbol of one of the ten Ignati tribes--are embedded firmly into his chest, and his blood trails along the ground and spills onto his clothes in gouts as he walks, cooly, alongside the other two. it is the man on the right, though, who is the strangest of all. His form is more of an outline of where a man should be, a sort of undeniably human shaped space, the inside of which shifts almost liquidly into various alterations and compositions of materials. His face, at one point, is composed of knotted wood that dissipates into droplets of mist--his entire frame remaking itself out of swirling liquid metal. "Men of Ignis," the skeleton king says in a voice loud enough to be heard by the entire army. "Death is upon you. Make peace with your gods." He slowly raises his sword in the air. The Ignati line rears in panic. Abdid can feel something in the air. He had served at Shattered Pinnacle, but what they were facing here was something different, an ancient and terrible power. In that moment, he knew that he and his men were going to be lucky if they made it out of this battle alive. The arrows of the Ignati rain down just as the fog surges forward, enveloping the three figures in the sightless mist. Inside the front of the fog, Abdid can see the winds twisting into otherworldly shapes, the shapes of horses and men, of dragons and eagles. The setting sun above them has been blocked out, and, wheeling his horse around, Abdid can see that the fog has encroached behind them as well, sealing them in. The ranks are in chaos. Ignati wheel into the skies, but cracks of thunder seem to emerge from the fog itself and strike down those who would attempt to escape. "Keep your wits about you," he roars to his men above the howling of the winds. "There are only three of them." He can't bear to tell his cavalry that they are useless, that these moments might very well be their last. The line of Ignis is completely broken. R'in Santi is nowhere to be seen. One of the three, the prince impaled by the symbolic swords, soars above the heads of his men on a horizontal pillar of fog, cackling madly. There is something in his hand, a twig or sharpened stick of some sort. Abdid watched in horrified fascination as the short stick flies from the man's hand and zips through the air, impaling flying Ignati. Suddenly, Abdid realizes that his loyal men are all gone, scattered all over the battlefield. Spectral soldiers rise from the flanks of the fog itself, cutting down the goats and sending the Ashik riders to their deaths with swords made of cloud. Abdid stands alone, thrown from his panicking mount. That's when he sees him. The skeleton king, his sword a blur, cutting through line after line of Ignati rank and file. The dragon-men break, some on foot, some to the clouded-out skies. The carcasses of dragonborn, horrifically burned from lightning bolts, their wings broken, plummet to the ground left and right. The fog swirls in closer, and for a second, etched across the sky in clouds Abdid can make out a human face, impossibly vast. The image passes. The Destroyer and Abdid stand alone on a field of bodies, both Ignati and Ashik. The skeleton king raises his sword, a deathly rattle escaping his throat. A challenge in an ancient language. Abdid ibn-al Walid raises his sword in kind. The rain begins to fall. The Destroyer shuffles up, fog swirling around his figure, his wet cloak blown forward by an otherworldly wind. "Do you know who I am?" he asks, his bone-dry throat rasping out the phrase in Ashik. Abdid is silent for a second. "I have lived long , it is true, but I must confess that I am not ready." Death walks forward still, rainwater streaming off the blade of his sword. The first strike is Abdid's, but the Sword of the Father bounces harmlessly off of his opponent's raised blade. The Destroyer backs up a bit. "No one is ready, Abdid. Not a one of them." Abdid moves in again, feinting with a strike against the chest but at the last second veering into an uppercut across the throat. The grim swordsman blocks his attack easily. "You haven't looked upon your sons and daughters in many a year, have you?" The question comes at the same time that the skeletal knight parries a third attack, the ringing steel of the blocked blow punctuating the question. "Not everyone gets the time you've had, Abdid. It's a shame you have squandered it." The Ashik rises to the taunt as Abaddon knew he would. Abdid lets out a roar, his sword crashing down again and again. Each swing is blocked with preternatural speed. Abdid lowers his sword, his spirit flagging. The skills of his opponent are impossible. In that moment, Abdid reconciles himself to his fate, letting his sword fall out of his hands onto the muddy ground. The skeleton approaches him, sheathing his sword, putting a hand on his shoulder. The two of them stand there for a while, neither of them saying a word. The fog has parted, and the last rays of the evening sun shine through onto the bodies of thousands of soldiers. The rain stops. The Destroyer, his voice now quiet, says something. Abdid doesn't hear him. "Are you finally ready?" he asks. Abdid nods his head. The Destroyer opens his fingers slightly. A thousand cracks rupture the golem's towering frame, and he topples to the ground in a heap of pebbles. The Destroyer trudges over to the where the Sword of the Father lies on the ground, picks it up, and places it on the rock pile gingerly. Then, he walks off alone to survey the remains of the battlefield. Four Winds is one of the best restaurants in Haven, situated on the riverbank, the place was an old castle that has had the keep removed. The walls still remained, but scaffolding has been put on them to accommodate balconies that overhang over the water bearing tables and seats. The list of reservations is reputably huge. "I'm sorry, sir," the head waiter at the gates of the castle says. "The name Gojac is on our list, but I'm afraid I can't let you into the restaurant in your current condition." The waiter points to the ten swords protruding from the Creator's stomach and the widening pool of blood that is spilling between the rivets of the drawbridge. Gojac is not nearly sober enough to take this as news very well. "It's an illusion, man," he says, slurring his words and staggering backward a few wobbly steps. "You know how many dragon-men I've killed today, son?" The head waiter is unfazed. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Gojac." Just then a voice rings out from above. "Gojac! How's it been?" Rucahn stands on the left balcony, surveying the scene, his arms rested on a railing. "You know damn well how it's been," the man shouts from below. Rucahn hated that his power to read the future prohibited him from making small talk. "You know," he shouts "if you want to stop the Alteration, all you have to do is stop thinking about it." Gojac closes his eyes for a minute or so. "Rucahn," he shouts. "Yeah?" "Not thinking about something is really hard." Rucahn brushes his hair out of his eyes and whispers a word in Ahazhuaran. Gojac looks completely different. Instead of the bleeding prince that once stood on the bridge, a feeble old man, his eyes red and watery, now inhabits the same space. An Alteration was a neat trick, but finding the Truth of an object was Rucahn's domain. Gojac shoves the waiter aside and soon the two of them are eating peppered lamb as the moonlight reflects off the river's broad expanse. "Can you believe that Kellus's stupid spell kept me waiting thirty minutes for my reservation?" Rucahn nods his head solemnly. "War is hell, friend."